Abattoir Apertment
by FallUnworthy
Summary: A wonder that is Tala Ivanov lives with a satanist and a magnificent landlord Kai Hiwatari. But how does your life look like, when you share your apartment with a hot satanist? XD KaiTala uke . sex, drugs, alcohol, humor
1. BUSTED

I am slowly recovering...writer's block fucked me over... BUT!  
Here's another fiction from me and this one's humor XDXD

Tala uke :)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. I maybe own a vibrator or two, but I don't own characters…  
**Warnings:** inappropriate content ;D sex, drugs, alcohol, _yaoi(so very appropriate)_

**- Abattoir Apartment - **

Chapter 1: B.U.S.T.E.D

Abattoir = Slaughterhouse

Yeah, that is definitely _IT_.

This household, led by an infamous satanic fucker, is an abattoir.

My magnificent landlord = ass reaper.  
Black boots, tattoos, dark eyeliner, chains and leather.  
Hmmm, yeah. He must be a brutal top.

Me = his housekeeping ladyboy (that doesn't get any).

I should probably be happy about that…

BUT! My friends; probability is a pregnant, PMSing bitch.

Me = luscious hips, talented mouth, razor tongue, power attitude… Unfortunately, my many talents go by unnoticed and uncared for.

I cannot help but ask, my good observer, would you do me if I waltzed around your apartment all day (and night)?

You would?

Aaahh, you're a sweetheart.

Unlike _some_ people.

At sixteen years of age, I am a product of modern society and development. You could tell just by my morals and wanton self-respect. No, I am not one of those people who would fuck a dog to get a release, but my mother did give birth to me while she was on LSD. It must have rubbed off on me. In fact, that makes me wonder what my roommate's mother was on while she was giving birth to him. Maybe she was clean, but he is most definitely the spore of a poorly aware woman and Satan himself.

I think she is staying at a state prison as we speak, at least for a couple more years, patiently waiting for her son to join her; tough shit. You don't suppose they stick family members together in there, do you? Highly unlikely, but at least she knows her son is a bustard. My mother was sure that when she was giving me away to another woman, she was doing the right thing. That I would be raised into a good boy that wouldn't ditch his stepparents and go live with a person, equal to herself.

Man, was she wrong. Or just really high.

I wonder if it's wrong to talk about her like that; she is the woman that gave birth to wonder that is currently Tala Ivanov after all. I will just talk about myself.

Have I mentioned I ditched school as well? If I haven't, there it is. A fact so disturbing to some adulthood members it's almost scary. I don't have a good, earth shattering excuse for what I did in past year and a half, but I know it, at least. Besides, I have a job and a place to stay; it's not five stars, but it's definitely better than staying with my stepparents, going to school and fucking my brains out with math for another five years.

Many people would agree with me, you know, but they don't have the guts to go and do it.

I guess I can say I am a model teenager of nowadays burnout modern society.

The kind your mommy and daddy don't want you to be.

The kind your brothers and sisters hang out with, unless they're well behaved.

The kind that chooses to live by his own rules, even if he doesn't have any at all.

The kind that gets his booze and cigarettes from his boss.

The kind that simply enjoys life, even though he has to swallow loads of other people's shit every day.

It's not as bad as it might sound, but definitely not as good as somebody I know tells me. His personal philosophy: close your eyes and squeezed your nose, shit tastes better this way. Bearable.  
I must, of course, disagree with passion. Shit always tastes the same, metaphorically speaking, not matter how much sugar you put in it.

Which is just plain disgusting.

We live in an age of development that has affected our morals as well as our beliefs. They slide backwards, no doubt.

Nobody mentions us these days anymore. You know, those kids that stay up late and tend to drunk citizens who go to work at fancy companies in the morning. Boys and girls that work overdue to scrub dirty toilets and all sorts of human fluids that god knows who left behind. Those kids that decided to ditch education and go to work, in places that are bottom of the bottom, but we still get by, doing something useful, keeping this society up on their feet. We are your spine, damn it!

You might hear your 'good model citizen' parents call us trash…

But we recycle nicely, you know.

Of course you do. Now. Tala has made it all clear.

Anyways, don't get the feeling I hate my life. I don't. I think I mentioned before it was my own decision to ditch school. I quite enjoy being hated by all those good parents and their good, hypocritical children. At least I was raised, knowing what this world really looks like when you turn it upside down. Unfortunately, there are teenagers that will never run from underneath their mother's skirt or look beyond their father's wallet.

Me, I easily ran from underneath my mother's skirt, I am a living example. It wasn't hard though, because her skirt was always up, as well as her legs.

Damn, here I go again. I promise I will try and not drag my mother into this rant again.

And I will not bitch over good people of Earth anymore, I swear.

I am not to talk about it.

I should tell you more about my current life. As I said, I am loving it.

Minus certain bits.

And Friday nights when I don't get a single minute off; bars are packed with bitter humanoids, in serious need of getting hammered. We are funny creatures, aren't we? There is this constant need to spill our insides out for the whole world to see, and smell, after enjoying a bottle or three.

Me myself am a big fan of colorless liquid, usually referred to as Russian Standard Vodka. I also think a perfect day starts with a cigarette and a cup of black coffee. With an extremely hot piece of meat sat opposite of where you plant your ass. Thumbs up if you agree with me.

Coffee leads me to my next favorite thing that has nothing to do with it whatsoever.

Tattoos.

Maybe those two things linked together inside my head because there are always a lot of tattooed men gathering where I work, to get their morning coffee. I don't mean those hairy, beer bellied men that have tattoos on their arms or back, a total waste of ink and something as sexual as a tattoo. I am referring to those fit bustards that flirt with you and four other people at the same time. Those with pierced ears and lips, decorated with occasional cuts and bruises.

The bad kind that your parents don't want you to date. Hehehehe.

Respect my advice; take your chances with such men.

As I was saying, I absolutely love tattoos. I am not a big fan of those with animals or naked women, but I love any other kind, as long as they're cool. And in a convenient place to stare at. A lot of people would say that such guys are a waste of human race, but they're actually really nice. They buy you drinks even though you should be selling them; of course, it's because they want to suggest a quick break to meet them in the back alley, but they're still very sweet and sexy about it.

Sometimes, they even leave you presents. A pack of your favorite cigarettes, their number in pretty black color or a vibrator.

Vibrators…

I have been reminded to return to this very moment I am stuck in. Sometimes, my ability to blatantly ignore situations like the one I am in now amazes me. But yes, this is a rather awkward situation. I must have been ranting all this time to no one in particular because there is this embarrassing silence hanging in between me and my landlord. I should be thinking of a way to get out this, not talking to myself and ranting about random shit. Even so, I will gladly rewind for you.

_Just moments ago:_

I stared, my lower jaw hanging somewhere at my bare feet, my pulse banging faster and faster as certain images crossed my already too troubled mind. I can't see myself right now, but I can imagine my expression is stuck between shocked and amazed. There is a line of fun collectibles spreading in front of my eyes, so long it runs out of my sight at both sides of my vision.

Vibrators, dildos, anal beads, you name it. I see them all.

They're in all colors, sizes and shapes; some of them seem to have tiny lights embedded in transparent latex or rubber, whatever that might be. As much as this sight amazes and arouses me, it's also pretty scary and disturbing. There is a certain lineup of less innocent nature.

They're all in black which makes them stand out aggressively, much to my shock, considering I have never in my life seen something like this. My eyes have stopped on a trio that seems frightening but surprisingly inviting and intriguing. They're all long, and I mean _really_ long for normal sized dildos; they must be his, no doubt about that.

First one seems less shiny than other two, but it has a feature so unusual and disturbing, it's a total turn on as well as frightening. Instead of the usual, delightful tip, it has a long spike made of stainless steel attached to its top. It's not sharp though, I've tried myself (with a finger, damn you perverts), but I can imagine that if somebody would shove that in and out of you, it wouldn't be very tender and loving.

I exhaled slowly as I came nose to plastic with the second lifeless monster, set on _his_ shelve. It wasn't as long as the other two, but it was just as intriguing and scary. Instead of one, none sharp and half friendly spike, it was almost completely covered in small, but rather pointy spikes; I can definitely say that this one does inflict pain and drains blood, much to certain _someone's_ pleasure.

I quickly moved my face away from the offending object and faced the last piece my eyes glued to; now this one was a nice piece. It was longer than the spiked plastic doom and it was definitely anus friendly. In a way.  
Black, that much is obvious, but it was pretty funky. There were six rings of stainless steel, again, circling the shaft and I am not wrong if I say they're at least one inch thick. Can't imagine what the feeling of having them pushed inside me one after another would be like, but if I'm completely honest, I'd like to try sometime soon.

Deep in thoughts, buried in my hormones over my head, I completely ignored the sound of front door having its soul slammed in and I kept on ignoring fast footsteps coming my way as well. Yeah well…

"Ivanov!"

I froze, literally. Most people would now jump out of their skin and crawl under the nearest object that's not touching the ground, but not me. I froze in my inconvenient position, face against the offending monsters, my mind going out with a bang as it overheated with new information pouring in. my landlord was home. Damn. Fuck. Shit. I have been owned. Totally busted.

It's good my blood ran cold because I could feel the unseen blush slowly infecting my face.

_In the awkward now_:

"Me?" I managed to squeeze that particularly painful word between my lips, hoping that he didn't mean me, when of course, he did. I managed to turn a bit, hoping to God who I may say is a selfish fuck, that I won't blush or that his face will spare me some dignity I have left.

Yup, he is pissed, I can tell by the vein that only appears when he's pissed. There is some amusement in his eyes as well, or am I seeing things now, whatever. I just know I must look waaaaaay guilty so I guess there's no point in denying it and making a complete ass of myself; if I just twist the truth a bit, I might get out with some dignity and all parts attached.

This, people, is my adorable, magnificent landlord.

His name is Kai Hiwatari, he is the man of this apartment.

He is the one I have been telling you about.

The Satanist and a Seme.

Combination of these two can only mean one thing: he is the spore of Satan and a poorly aware human female.

* * *

there, I am pretty peased with it.  
People! please, review! and LEAVE THUMBS UP IN REVIEW IF YOU AGREE WITH TALA ON **coffee, cigarettes **and HOT MEN XD

NEXT CHAPTER COMING SOON XD  
at least, i hope...


	2. The Reek Of Hell

I will not say anything at all... except for stating the fact that my writing is seriously delayed…

But luckily I finished this chapter, thanks to lovely Ellen who managed to convince me that finishing this was better than taking a nap -.-'

Anyways… Enjoy!

Abattoir Apartment

Chapter 2: The Reek Of Hell

My two bundles of joy are hurting underneath me; I suspect that my ass has adopted the shape of a chair that I've been patiently warming for the good part of the evening. I am staring at 1 litre of bottled rainbow fun, constantly taunted by the cheesy palm tree and Californian sunrise, reminding me that I was better off not buying this cholesterol inducing crap. They way I see it, I had a better chance at getting shitfaced with a teaspoon of sugar, ram headfirst into the wall, scream bloody murder and pass out in the corner.

But no...

I spent all my money on a drink that my grandma would spontaneously down in one go to grease her squeaky limbs; this, however, means that the alcohol that is apparently called Malibu Sunrise is somewhat of a common asswipe pussy drink. At least Kai will be sure to point that out on his way to the bedroom. Thanks to some unknown underpaid cunt of an architect, our hazard area formally known as the kitchen is linking the hallway and his room… I got used to the idea of two or more people fucking next to where I eat most of my meals.

My lazy eyes are drawing circles on the ceiling as I tip back and forward in this utmost comfortable wooden chair that is starting to leave affectionate love bites all over my ass. Seriously, I have been stuck here for that long, at least. My right foot taps against the floor every once in a while and I shift my stare at the other foot that is shaking slightly while I dangle it above the tiled ground. I can't really decide if I feel bothered by this empty, meaningless boredom or excited, because the sad truth is, absently abusing the tiled kitchen floor was the most fun I've had today.

I glance at the white, randomly coloured bottle on the table just for a fragment of a tiny second out of another boring minute and wonder…

Is there a way to get ridiculously drunk on boiled sugar and hand disinfectant that I have purchased earlier this evening…

Maybe if I drink it really fast, with my head hanging upside down, coming across like a total moron.

I leaned forward and as soon as both of my dangling feet touched the floor, I reached for the bottle and unscrewed it open; the smell was awful. Ok, maybe not as awful as the scent coming from the hallway behind my back. I'm suspecting that something has died inside the walls of our apartment and I cannot be wrong because the reek matches a dead woman's vagina. At least I imagine so…

I have never actually smelled one and never wish to either…

If I didn't know better, I'd say it was probably just coming off our neighbour, whom happens to be an elderly lady with two grandsons and occasional post mortal PMS. She also suffers from serious sugar addiction but is a diabetic; I have come to a conclusion that this might just be a very common combination of misfortune and weak self control. I am counting the days because judging by the amount of sweets she stuffs down her pipe, she will go any day now. Her doctor must be a desperate, troubled old man.

All this random crap has given me an idea that just might be one of the very few good ones this evening. I got up with a slight throb literally tickling my ass and I can assure you that this feels just as weird as it sounds. With the dreaded bottle still in my left hand I spun around on my heels and scurried past the poorly lit living room. As I neared the front door, I blatantly ignored the alerting sound of an air freshener going off and took a deep breath through my nose; it all resulted in a bitter cough. The smell got worse in past two days and it tastes slightly sour if you breathe in too much of the deathly fumes. I always do that…

I always take a fucking breath when I pass through the fucking hallway.

God damn piece of crap air freshener is not working. I've sprayed the hall with it more than 40 times already.

The air outside is not much better because it's been infested with scent of sour piss that homeless men apparently used to mark their territory and they've gone worse ever since our janitor left the building and quit his miserable job. I've only met him once or twice actually and every time I did, it was because he had to pry the elevator door open for me; I still have the feeling he didn't like me very much.

I knocked on the door sharply a few times.

She usually grunts or screams something obscene, battling to death with the chain for a couple of moments before finally opening her front door, mostly likely in her underwear or a bathrobe. I am starting to doubt that this woman even puts her clothes on because you'd practically have to sow them onto her body. Yes, she most definitely has an overwhelming…eeh…personality.

I knocked again…

"If you touch the damn door again, I will ram the handle up your hairy ass!" Any normal person would probably just turn around and leave, but I kicked the door out of pure malice and partially because my ass is definitely not hairy. Or a place to store away offending objects such as the germ inhabited door handle. "You are a persistent little crap, aren't you!" she yelled again and this time, I could hear the noise of feet dragging across the carpeted hallway as she slowly carried her heavy, sagging gut towards the door. Her voice is kind of screechy today; she must have been drinking already so I'm guessing her grandsons must be tucked in their beds by now, or at least stuffed in a cupboard. This woman is capable of anything, as long as it doesn't involve crossing her 0.01 speed limit.

"Actually, I'm not that little." I stated bluntly as she finally started her endless struggle with the lock, trying to fit the damn key into the ridiculously large hole. "It don't matter. All crap smells the same." She barked from the other side of the wooden barrier, pushing the door away from herself and nearly hitting me flat on the face with it. "Oh, I didn't realise it's you, Tala." She squeaked and took a sudden step backwards, all four of her chins wobbling a bit. "Yeah. Have you ever?"

She does that every time.

"What can I do for you?" she asked and I practically shoved the bottle of Malibu in her face, frowning. "I accidentally bought this and it's not really up to my taste. I was wondering if you could exchange it with a bottle of whiskey."

"Tell me, why would I exchange a bottle of whiskey for a fruit punch?" she peered at me with her tiny eyes and I noticed how hard she pressed her wet lips together. Enough to stop blood circulation and drain all the pallid pink out of her juicy…

Nevermind…

"It's sweet. And it's supposed to taste like coconuts." I hurried in hopes that no further negotiation will be needed to persuade the old lady.

She is still squinting at me as if I was standing seven yards away.

"Really. Try it." I give it another go and she shakes her head, making the meat cushions dance below her chin again. "You haven't pissed in it, have you?" I guess her wide, bottomless torso is some sort of a mushy cave because she can produce tones so low that even the hair you have already shaved off stand up as she speaks. "No. Only nerds and cunts do that." I sighed and she nodded, giving me one last stern look from underneath the bulging forehead. "Wait here. I don't want your dirty shoes on my carpet." She barked and disappeared around the archway.

I'm not even wearing shoes…

Bitch…

I can hear her shuffling around the kitchen lazily…She is probably taking swigs of the dreaded Malibu as well because the satisfied noises she is making match the happy whines of a dog that has just realised he can lick his own crotch. Very unpleasant. Russian women can be really strange that way… well, the older ones anyway.

"Are you almost done in there?" I said half assed and pushed my hands so deep into the pockets of a hoodie that they nearly poked out on the other side while stumbling over the worn out doormat. I did a little retarded dance with my feet, trying to catch balance and not band my head against the wall in the process. I honestly have no idea why I get so clumsy when I stand still for a while; maybe I'm disproportionate and my balance tips from one side to another.

Erm….

That was a theory dragged out of an ass…

While I let my eyes wander over the fading brown carpet, she was already wobbling back towards the door with a bottle in her hand and a satisfied smile on her face. Finally.

"I hope you like Johnnie Walker because that's all I have left." She mumbled and offered the bottle to me with one swift movement of her arm. "Yeah, of course. You are a life saver." I quickly recited the cheesiest line ever made up to make someone feel special and helpful; though she did help a lot with this generous and very unfair trade. Malibu was cheap whore piss compared to what she gave me. She slammed the door shut again and I quickly paced back to my apartment, locking the door behind me.

This time I did hold my breath, but the smell still found its way into my mouth…somehow.

I took a swig of Johnnie before I sat my ass down on the couch, plopping my head on a hard, muscled shoulder of my masochistic landlord. "What's up, runt?" he asked and her shifted a bit, obviously unsatisfied with additional weight on his shoulder, but who the fuck cares. "I'm guessing the ceiling. Unless we live in a single roofless building in the world." I replied and took another swig of my drink before Kai could pry it away from me like he usually does, coming up with some lame excuse that minors aren't allowed to drink. If we don't drink, we dehydrate…and die. Since something else has already died in this apartment, I don't think I need to play the part in the death chain, circling this place. "And I was afraid your jackassery won't kick in today." Kai said bluntly and threw an arm over my shoulders, wrapping his long, bony fingers around the bottle.

I let him take it away without any sort of a protest, just this once, simply because I know that he's gonna share with me. I could feel his neck tense every time he swallowed and there was a tiny noise that he made when the whiskey poured down his throat. I'm assuming he's satisfied with the taste.

After a few more seconds, he placed the bottle onto a small coffee table and crossed his legs, resting them on an armchair. I played with the fabric of his sweatpants for a while, trying to come up with something to talk about, but the truth is, neither of us really feels the need to discuss random bullshit. If we have something to talk about, we talk; otherwise we just exchange thoughts, in a way. It's almost as if he could get inside my mind despite the fact I don't say anything.

When I got tired of staring at the wrinkles of black fabric, I sat up straight and bent forward to take one of many cigarettes, carelessly tossed on the glassy little table. Kai held his lighter up for me and I dragged out the nicotine as if my life depended on it when in fact, it was decreasing due to this shit. I've thought about quitting hundreds of times before, but the shit is too infectious. Plus the pleasant smell of this cigarette has finally overpowered the horrible stench.

"Kai, I think the smell got worse." I said with an absent tone of my voice as I stared at the smoke slowly circling around my head, spreading and fading into the heavy air inside the living room. Kai simply snarled and I knew I couldn't expect anything more out of him.

He was kind of absent today…

He went to see his mother again…

She usually does that to him, as if she were as little brain eating maggot.

He's probably in a bad mood too…

So I guess I'll just have to mention that I lost our rent money tomorrow…

Heh…

* * *

This chapter was slightly less about Kai, because Tala simply needs his spotlight…and the story's mostly Tala's point of view anyways…

However, I am already writing the next chapter and it's longer and much more energetic, like most of upcoming ones…

… review?


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